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TW: kidnap, violence, blood
After finishing his day at the tracks, Race carried on as he would any other day. Nothing had happened to give him reason to believe anything was wrong. Because of this, he had not expected the cold hands that covered his mouth whilst he was grabbed by the waist. He kicked and thrashed, attempting to be released from his attackers, but that made very little to no difference. Before Race could continue to put up a fight, he felt a dull pain pound against his head before he blacked out.
When he had woken up again, Race had no idea were he had been taken. What he did know was that his head hurt like hell, and he was frightened. The room was dark with only the faintest of light coming from a boarded up window. "Hello? Where am I? Jack'll come after you if ya don't let me go, y'know! We still in Brooklyn? Spot, if this is some sick joke I swear I'll—" before Race could continue, he was cut off.
"Shut up!" barked a gruff, abrasive voice.
"Who are you? Quit hidin' like some sorta coward!" Race demanded with a trembling voice.
The captor stepped forward, as if he was listening to his victim in some twisted humor. Due to the lack of light in the room, Race was unable to identify the man who stood before him. Before Race knew it, he was thrown to the ground, and kicked mercilessly. For each kick, Race silently hoped—prayed—that it would be over soon. Alas, his abuse carried on for an hour, until he was a bruised and bloodied wreck.
"I'll be back later. Don't you even think about escapin'." The man spat before exiting the dark room, leaving Race crumpled on the floor.
From that point on, Race's days remained the same. He would wake up, eat whatever scraps the man had left him, plan a futile escape, and cower in fear for his captor's return. It was a sick routine, but the fact it existed kept Race from breaking. The routine gave him a false sense of normality and the smallest bit of control. When the man did return, however, he would beat Race senseless, releasing his pent up anger.
This happened for 6 weeks, until eventually, the man decided he didn't need Race anymore. He had found some other kid. An already crippled boy, Race didn't care or pay attention. All he cared about was that he was going to be free. That he would see the sun once more.
The man tossed Race's battered and beaten body, left almost unrecognizable in a Brooklyn alley, leaving Race to the rats. He lay there for a few hours more, too weak to even move. However, for the first time in ages, a spark of luck fell upon him. The King of Brooklyn, and a friend of Race's, Spot Conlon had been walking through the alley on his way home when he saw Race's crumpled body on the dirty ground.
Spot's eyes widened when he realized it was Race, and his smile grew. "Race! I can't believe it's you!," he exclaimed. "Jacky's been lookin' everywhere for ya, we was all worried sick."
"Quit gripin' and help me then," Race replied, grinning nonetheless.
"What the hell happened to ya?" Spot asked, bending over to help Race up.
Race told Spot everything that had happened while they made their way back to the Brooklyn Dockyards where the newsies hung out. Spot listened intently, unable to believe what Race had gone through.
"C'mon Race, you're safe now. I'ma help you get cleaned up and then you can rest at my place alright? Tomorrow if you're up for it, we can take ya back to Jack. That sound good?"
"Yeah, alright. Thank you Spot. I really appreciate what you're doin' for me."
"Yeah, no problem Racey. I'm here for you, you know that."
"Yeah, I know, Spot."
With that, no more words were needed. Spot undressed Race down to his underthings, and began to use his own shirt as a rag to clean up the blood from Race's body. After drying Race off, he redressed him, and half led half carried him back to the Lodging House.
"You can sleep in my bed, I'm fine with takin' the floor," Spot told Race, gently setting him down on the bed.
"You can stay if ya want too...," Race mumbled, inching over for Spot to climb in.
Spot clambered onto the bed, next to Race. "I'm really glad you're ok. I missed seein' ya down at the tracks."
"Yeah? Well, I'm glad to be back. I missed fresh air. I missed you."
